


But I Don't Love You

by hearden



Series: Coup de foudre [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Any relationship listed above is susceptible to change. Jsyk., F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, References to Suicide, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, This will most definitely hurt., Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-19 04:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/879524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearden/pseuds/hearden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being unwillingly brought into the supernatural world by Peter Hale's bite, Lydia has trouble adjusting to things. Her so-called "immunity" sounds beneficial enough, but when a night that causes hallucinations in werewolves drags her - in all of her human mortality - down as well, one important question comes to mind. Is Lydia Martin really immune? Or has everyone else been overlooking the clues right in front of their faces? And when Lydia's newfound condition climbs to harmful levels, will the pack be able pull her back from the edge of sanity?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lie Beside Me

**Author's Note:**

> Titled derived from If I Loved You by Delta Rae.
> 
> Set during (and after) the events of 3x06 ("Motel California"). Most, if not all, canonical information and relationships were kept untouched up to the point where the actual story starts (with a slight tweak to how Lydia fared in the motel). After that, it's just a roller coaster. Also, I was initially going to stretch myself and copy the 3x06 dialogue word for word but no.
> 
> For reference, ~ signifies a scene change, - is the start/end of a dream sequence, and > is the start of Allison's POV (but that's later).

The motel reeks of second-rate cleaning supplies that Lydia can smell the moment she steps off the bus, and she scrunches her nose, disgusted. "I don't like this place," she mutters, displeased with how things have turned out. Allison chuckles good-naturedly and says in that lightening-the-mood tone of hers, "I don't think the people who own this place like this place." When Lydia doesn't budge, the brunette tries again, "It's just for a night." That does even less to calm the butterflies inside of Lydia's stomach, and she contemplates taking a step back or maybe even sleeping on the bus for the night. "A lot can happen in one night." She doesn't want to stay here for a night or even for a few hours if she was given the chance. 'Glen Capri' sounds like a natural enough motel name, but who knows? It looks as if the Bates Motel opened up a sister branch. She can't voice those worries, though, because Allison dangles their room key from one finger and extends her other hand forward. Lydia can't resist that slight pleading look in her friend's eyes that whispers _Please, for me?_ and it breaks her resolve faster than... well, her resolve has never really been broken before. So, she loops her arm around Allison's, and they head for room 217. "If I find a blood stain on the carpet or curtains, though-" "You're just paranoid." A laugh escapes from Allison's lips, and it washes away all of Lydia's fears like a gently flowing river.

The room stinks of nicotine as they enter. Allison seems to have zero trouble adjusting save for a momentary flinch at the stench, but Lydia coughs and gags, burrowing her face into Allison's hoodie to block out the smell. "Gross." she mumbles, pinching her nose once her friend tries to walk further into the room. Rolling her eyes at Lydia's exaggerated disgust, Allison removes her jacket and tosses it to the strawberry blonde, "There, just use that if you're gonna complain so much." Lydia presses it to her nose in order to make a show but finds herself a bit more invested in the jacket than she should have been. "Apples," she remarks through the muffling fabric. "Yeah, it's a body mist," Allison replies, peeking into the bathroom, "Is it okay with you if I take a shower first? There aren't any towels, though..." Lydia shrugs, draping Allison's jacket over a chair once the scent has completely drowned out the stench in her senses, "I'll go get some." She's out the door before Allison can respond, desperately inhaling the outside air as if it were a lifeline. Maybe she'd complain about the smoking-free bullshit, too.

~

"All suicides?" Allison's features have an expression of thought as if she's trying to grasp an extremely complex concept - Lydia would find it intriguing if they weren't talking about the Bates Motel they're currently situated in. She nods an affirmation, giving the brunette one of those thin-lipped 'yup' smiles that seems more like a grimace, "Hanging, throat cutting, pill popping, both barrels of a shotgun in the mouth suicides. Now, I don't know about you, but me, I-" _"Which, uh, which one do you want?"_ She stops as the young male's voice pierces the air, and Allison stares at her, mouth open to ask why she abruptly halted. "Did you hear that?" Allison's eyebrows raise in confusion, "Hear what?" She hears it again - a conversation between a male and female. _"I-I don't know. The smaller one, I guess." "That's okay - the smaller one's better. There's less kick- I'll chamber the round."_ Lydia steps up on the bed, eyes fixated to the air vent as little silver streamers billow out from the incoming breeze. The bed dips where her weight presses, but she keeps her balance, ears open and listening. _"Alright, so-" "W-wait, when do I...? D-do you count?" "Yeah, yeah, I-I'll count to three." "So... on three or after three?" "You tell me."_ Her breath hitches, and she can feel herself on the edge of a panic attack, hyperventilating. "Lydia?" Allison's voice breaks through, momentarily, into her consciousness, but Allison isn't the one acting on a suicide pact right now. "Oh my god, ohmygod." she murmurs breathily and terrified. Her heart beats wildly in her chest from the suspense but frightened because she can tell what's coming next. _"One, two, then pull the trigger."_ the female says unsteadily. "Ohmygod." Lydia's voice is a mere whisper now, only heard by herself, and her eyes burn with horrified, unshed tears. _"I love you." "I love you, too."_ The man's countdown begins, _"One, two..."_ There's a pause of silence where Lydia desperately hopes - more than she's ever hoped before - that the couple stop themselves and return back to those "I love you"s. But her desperation isn't enough. The _BANG!_ echoes through the room, almost shattering her eardrums and heart at the same time. Her hand comes up to her mouth fast enough to muffle a silent scream; she's already retreating from the air vent with quick steps, and the silver streamers fall and dangle the moment the gunshot is swallowed by silence. One foot slips off the bed and the other follows quickly, but Allison is there to catch her, arms wrapped securely around her waist.

Lydia leans her weight on Allison's, a few tears streaming down her cheeks. Her chest rises frantically and unsteadily, and it _hurts_ to even breath right now. Allison must be able to tell that she's trembling because the catch turns into a hug as she's turned around by the shoulders. With the adrenaline pumping through her veins, Lydia refuses to give into the hug. "What is it, Lydia? What happened?" She looks up with blurry vision and squirms out of Allison's arms, "D-didn't you hear?" "Hear _what_?" There is heavy concern laced in with her friend's words, but it just makes Lydia panic more. Only she heard the couple. Is she going mad? "The- the two people in the other room, t-they shot each other," she mutters frantically, already three steps to the door, yanking it open. She doesn't look back to see if Allison follows. "Lydia." reaches her ears after she bursts out into the outdoors, eyes already looking for the next door, so she presumes that Allison is indeed going after her. But, the couple is more important.

Room 216 - she stands outside of the door, waiting for something to click, but nothing does except terror and fear. A turn of the knob pushes it open, and she's greeted warmly by darkness and a broken light switch. "Lydia," Allison's whisper is inches away from her ear yet she doesn't bother to respond, her breath rising to panic-attack level again, "What are you doing?" She stumbles into the room, her loud panting the only sound, and flips on the light stand that her fingers fumble for.

And, there's nothing.

Panic overwhelms her; another tear fights its way to the surface, trailing down her cheek as she steps further into the room. She whirls around and can see the reaction on Allison's face to her frightened, panicked state, "It had to be right here." Her voice cracks. "It was a guy and a girl and they sounded younger but- _they were here_." The last part she says with the utmost conviction. She didn't imagine it. No.

Allison takes a few steps forward, closer, and rests both hands on her shoulder, slouching a bit to bring herself to Lydia's eye level. "I believe you," the brunette says reassuringly, "After everything we've been through, I believe you." A sigh leaves Lydia's lips, and she nods, still slightly wound up. "It's all in my head, though, isn't it?"

This time, she relaxes into Allison's embrace.

~

Lydia can still feel the heat of the explosion on her skin even an hour after everyone has stumbled onto the bus. Stiles returns with Isaac and Boyd in tow, and they all settle into different seats. The bus will have to do for tonight because there's no way that the motel is any safer. Allison immediately moves over as she approaches, giving her room to sit down. "Are you okay?" She mutely nods, but shakily. At least, they're alive. She allows herself to relax, and her head rolls, dropping onto Allison's shoulder. Her eyes stare straight forward, boring holes into the back of the seat in front of them. Exhaustion drags her uneasily into unconsciousness.

-

She jolts awake to a quiet bus and stands, trying not to jar Allison with any of her movements. Passing by Scott and Stiles, Lydia makes her way to the door, prying it open with her hands. The night outside is gloomy and deadly silent, but she steps off the bus anyway, curious as to what invisible pull interrupted her rest. _"Lydia."_ comes the whisper, cruel and menacing, sending chills down her spine. She knows his voice by now and shakes her head furiously, muttering to herself that he couldn't possibly be here. Derek was dead - Peter would probably be back in Beacon Hills, mourning the loss of his nephew (but, Lydia assumes, psychotic werewolves like Peter Hale might not feel grief - she knew he wasn't remorseful for what he had done to her), not in Fairvale, stalking her. She whirls around, trying to peer through the darkness, and comes face-to-face with the blue-eyed werewolf. "Hello, Lydia." His voice carries a certain quality to it like that of a siren's - alluring, captivating, and deadly; his smile is sharp and wicked but charming. She isn't falling for his tricks, though, and backs away rapidly, but when she blinks, he appears just as close in front of her. A flake of skin peels off his cheek, revealing burnt flesh underneath; her eyes widen in silent terror as she trips and falls backward, scrambling away. A crackling starts - the sound of a raging inferno - and her nose picks up on burnt flesh, disgusting and revolting. Peter Hale crumbles before her, his normal skin scattering in the wind to display the charred man he once was. Blue eyes bore into her with the promise of eternal horror. "Oh, Lydia. Beautiful, intelligent, but not as immune as I thought." Her brow furrows at that, but the thought flees, giving way to new panic when he lunges at her, claws extended and teeth bared. His hands hold her wrists down against the concrete, and he looms above her, smirking at a plan she isn't aware of yet. "Stop, let go of me!" She thrashes and squirms, legs kicking and arms struggling for freedom, and screams, _"Someone help-"_

-

_"Lydia!"_

Her green eyes snap open, full of fear, flickering frantically through the dim moonlight. A weight is on top of her, straddling her and trapping her against the ground, but it isn't compressing and heavy like Peter. Instead, she can make out long, dark brown hair, dangling in front of her. _Allison._ Her wrists _are_ pinned down, but the moment Allison sees that she's awake and fully there, the grip is gone. Her friend gets to her feet and helps her up, a look of deep-rooted concern visible in her eyes. Lydia's grateful that Allison lets a few minutes of silence pass before asking the question that she's sure is burning through the brunette's mind; it gives her time to discern that she's in reality and Peter Hale is nowhere in sight.

"Lydia, what happened?"

She trembles and nods silently when it's clear that Allison understands that touching her isn't the best idea right now. "Peter was here," she mumbles, softly, squeezing tears out from behind her eyelids, "He held me down." That's all she says. She doesn't mention how she knows that this would happen; she doesn't mention how she remembers that Peter warned her of the "years of profoundly disturbing nightmares". It's all a part of her own issues that she never really worries about because she can get over it and just move on with a arrogant smile - that's what she always does. After all, when she lost time and found that body of the lifeguard at the local pool, that didn't crush her. She wakes up screaming on most nights but does that prevent her from coming to school and flaunting the fact that she's goddamn Lydia Martin who breaks hearts and goes through boys like purses? Absolutely not.

Allison's face is a mixture of sadness, worry, and concern so deep that it makes Lydia's heart drop, so she reluctantly pushes that facade deep down for tomorrow morning at school. Tonight, she can be the girl from earlier - the one who heard a couple shoot themselves and a mother drowning her baby. The girl who panicked because she was the only one hearing suicides from years past when no one else was. _It's all in my head,_ she thinks as Allison guides her back to the bus. This time, Lydia moves as close to the brunette as she can in a moment of pure vulnerability, humming quietly to calm herself down. She shivers slightly at Allison's first touch, a hand on her head, stroking her hair in a manner that is extremely soothing, but relaxes after she hears Allison mumbling sweet nothings like "There's hope" and "Things'll get better". Lydia doesn't dare ask, though, if she'll get better; she just rests her head in the crook of Allison's neck, inhales the enchanting scent of apples, and drifts off.


	2. These Ghosts, They Haunt Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place before 3x09 (with mentions of 3x07 and 3x08). [Apologies that it's short aslkjfkdlfsj.]
> 
>  **Trigger Warning:** suicide attempt.
> 
> For reference, ~ signifies a scene change, - is the start/end of a dream sequence, and > is the start of Allison's POV (but that's later).

Lydia never had any problems with swimming - that'd be completely embarrassing, considering that Jackson was almost always in the water and doing lap after lap when he wasn't practicing lacrosse. It had been a favorite pastime of the couple during the summer season to hang out the local pool; however, there was maybe 10% swimming at the most. The rest of the time was spent being the envy of everyone around them - Lydia for her proud, luscious bikini body and the captain of the lacrosse team who she hung on her arm and Jackson for chiseled, model looks and the queen bee he was rarely seen without. Their PDA, unlike those couples who hungrily grasped at each other in the hallways, wasn't frowned upon but, instead, fumed about. For the longest time, she was Lydia Martin, Jackson's girlfriend and the royal queen of Beacon Hills High School, and he was Jackson Whittemore, Lydia's boyfriend and king. And they ruled the school simply by walking down the hallways together. _That time's long gone, though,_ Lydia thinks as Allison pulls up in front of the local swimming pool. She's still the queen bee, but last spring's disasters where the whole town thought she was completely insane had bumped her down a few notches. Of course, it was incredibly easy to regain her shine once the new school year, and she reeled in one of the hot, new twins. Jackson Whittemore who?

Aiden wasn't her boyfriend - hell, he wasn't her _anything_ besides a simple benefit. Stiles and that annoying sister of Derek's (and Derek, too, as a matter of fact) always have their panties in a bunch, all concerned because Aiden had the whole murderous Alpha status. Every morning, she wakes up and has a nice chuckle in the shower, thinking about how ridiculous that thought is - that she should be _scared_ of Aiden wolfing out and biting/killing her/ripping her apart with his teeth. Lydia wonders, would they be this (annoyingly) concerned if it were Allison, instead? Allison with her archery skills and hunting knives and daggers? Allison with her martial arts and childhood of training for a family business? She doesn't voice the thought but Allison crosses a (dis)similar topic as they're exiting her car. "I'm glad you blew Aiden off for us." It's more of a joke than an insult since things between her and Aiden have been rocky because of Boyd's death. The school held an announcement of a memorial for all they had lost a few days ago. Boyd and Erica were included in that list, but Lydia hadn't bothered to look into the excuse that was used for their sudden deaths. Werewolf claws simply wouldn't do the trick.

She's not stupid - quite the contrary - and understands what being involved with Aiden means, but when Lydia Martin wants someone, she _gets_ them. Dealing with the package - homicidal Alpha tendencies, fighting for the enemy, and a whole pack of other homicidal Alphas trailing behind, ready to strike at any moment - is just fine with her. After all, her name isn't big in school for popularity and attitude (with a side of sassitude) for nothing. "I said I needed a distraction." she replies curtly to Allison, "He's a _distraction_." A perfect, handsome one at that; however, Aiden reminds her of Jackson in the slightest bit, cocky and the typical jock mold. She'd say she has a type, but they're only for the looks. Her real type are girls into hunting with bows who rock black as if they were trying to take over Bruce Wayne's night job. They walk through the entrance of the pool, and for a split-second, Lydia thinks she sees the dead lifeguard again but, no, there's an actual live person sitting in the chair, now. Scott, Stiles, Danny, and Isaac are already in the 4-feet end of the pool, playing basketball in what seems to be shirts versus skin. She and Allison plop their stuff down near the boys', stripping down to their swimsuits. Allison bumps her hip, all tease and mockery, "Lydia, can you swim?" Ignoring the unease in her stomach, Lydia scoffs and jabs her elbow into the other girl's side hard enough to send her stumbling to the edge of the pool, " _Please._ " Suddenly, she's on the receiving end of retaliation as Allison reaches, yanks on her arm, and brings them both falling into the pool with a _tight_ hug. Her shriek of surprise gets caught in the impact with the water, her body hitting the surface sideways; water rushes into her nose, sharp and stinging, as Allison's arms link under hers, and Lydia is dragged up toward the surface. Gasping and giggling, she catches her breath, yelling shrilly, "Was that really _necessary_?" Her legs and arms are already in motion, treading water, but Allison hasn't withdrawn her forearms from under Lydia's shoulders. "I was teaching you a lesson," the brunette says simply, smirking, " _Don't_ mess with me." Lydia calmly ignores how close their bodies are and haughtily arches an eyebrow, "And what if I do?" Quick as lightning, Allison lifts her up by the armpits, tossing her back into the water with a noisy splash; she screams again, her exhale turning into bubbles once she's underwater.

Lydia - being Lydia - won't let Allison have the last laugh so easily and grabs the other girl's ankles, tugging hard enough that Allison follows her under. It becomes a catfight of playful slapping and kicking (at one point, Lydia dares to turn around and swim as fast as she can in the other direction, leaving Allison in a cloud of vision-impairing bubbles). The strawberry blonde emerges on the other side of the rope that divides shallow and deep, grinning quite triumphantly at Allison from far away. Her carefully-crafted, airy, popular girl mask has already been dropped - Lydia can pinpoint very accurately that it did so the moment Allison pulled up in front of her house half an hour earlier - and replaced by the real her that only a few actually see. Sure, there are kids from school here, too, but they're busy with their own friends, and she can act natural when she's this close to Allison. It all, ultimately, comes down to Allison. Always.

"Is somebody afraid of the deep end?" she taunts, tilting her head and giving her best friend the sweetest yet most mocking smile. Lydia swears that she can see the dip in Allison's brow as her features droop into mild irritation; she _knows_ she's in trouble because Allison rockets off the wall of the pool like a torpedo, swimming toward her in a way that's ridiculously graceful and nothing like the Olympics where they're all focused on speed. This is speed and beauty (and the building up to probably another underwater drag, Lydia anticipates grimly) and she'd love to appreciate it forever - the way Allison's arms rise and dip into the bright blue water, the way her legs kick with propelling strength yet don't make distracting and annoying splashes, and the way her head turns on every stroke perfectly to gasp for air; however, as Allison is beneath the surface, Lydia notices something right before the boys behind her do. She hears Stiles demanding of Scott - "What the hell are Derek and Peter doing here?! They're, like, stalking everyone!" Sure enough, leather-clad Derek stands at the entrance gate, accompanied by his psychotic, how-old-is-he uncle, both looking ridiculously out of place in the sunny daytime with their dark wardrobe. Per usual, Derek stands as rigid as possible, hands in pockets and feet planted firmly to the ground; Peter, on the hand, spots Lydia the same moment as she does with him and _smiles_. It's the exact same smile she saw in her sleepwalking dream the night at the motel - charming with a few rough edges. To any other girl, it would be swoon-worthy and easy access to the panties, but Lydia knows better than to trust his good looks because Peter Hale is anything _but_ good. Her vision is not entirely perfect from late nights of reading textbooks too close when she was younger (now, she knows to keep a distance), but it's difficult to miss the flash of bright blue eyes, mirroring the water she's treading. She's seen blue like that before in Jackson's eyes right after he shed his Kanima shell, and Stiles vaguely mentioned something about it being the taking of an innocent life; however, Peter's eyes are nothing like Jackson's, more cunning and sly and a void of the very slight, buried caring soul that her ex-boyfriend's held. Her memory uncovers and digs up a vision of menacing red eyes, sharp claws, and the feeling of being completely violated and traumatized. Shivers crawl up and down her spine, spreading out to the rest of her limbs like a river and its tributaries, rendering them useless. The panic never actually comes; she simply slips down under the calm surface, body drifting toward the bottom of a eight-feet deep section. Her eyes are wide open, but Lydia sees nothing except for red Alpha eyes and a hulk of a wolf form, bursting out of the video store. The water is nothing around her, yanking her in and enclosing her in an aquatic coffin; she doesn't feel it wrapping around her arms and legs, snaking around her waist like a touchy boy, eager to get some action. Instead, all she feels is the terrifying featherlike scrape of Peter's claws against her cheek, the painful tug as he drags her, screaming, through the lacrosse field, and the piercing agony as his teeth close on her side, ripping through flesh as if it were paper.

Dazed, Lydia doesn't register Allison diving toward her, swimming as fast as she can to reach her best friend. Her green eyes don't notice how Allison's chest is visibly struggling for breath and how the brunette is determined to not waste time by going back to the surface for air. She doesn't think in panic; instead, all she processes is a blur of pain and agony and the sole thought that she wants it to _stop_. She wants no more nightmares, waking up screaming her lungs dry, no more sleepwalking and losing time, no more fear and trauma. For the first time, she wants to give up, peacefully, without a struggle. Just give in to the darkness that reaches for her, that wants to swallow her whole. But, suddenly, all of the wires in her head snap like twigs when arms comes from behind as Allison circles around her and lifts her up, elbows hooked under her shoulders. Panic comes crashing down on her mind, making her dizzy and frightened. She screams but all the comes out are a long line of bubbles, fighting to float to the surface. Allison's grip on her tightens considerably at that moment, and through her struggle against the grasp, Lydia can feel the brunette's chest at war with the lack of air, inflated and threatening to burst. Loud and muffled against her ear, Allison's surrendering inhale is desperate and instantaneously a regrettable action. Almost immediately, the kicks that aid them both to the surface become faster, and the moment fresh air greets them, Allison clutches at the edge of the pool, coughing out water. Lydia hangs from her arm, now, their forearms tangled; she, too, hacks out a lung in the process of getting the water out of her system. Her heart pounds at an unsafe rate, unstable and terrified. "Lydia--" Their arms become unchained, and two hands grip her shoulders, firm but gentle. The question is in those beautiful, concerned hazel eyes, and Lydia can do nothing but look away and softly mutter, "Peter."

Her brief drowning episode must have taken no less than five minutes because Scott is only walking on the concrete just now, feet bouncing frequently because of the sun-heated ground. Allison's hand darts out when he passes them, yanking his ankle so hard that he would've tripped if not for those rapid werewolf reflexes. He seems unaware that Lydia just nearly drowned (which aligns with her theory that Allison was fortunate enough to notice her disappearance the moment she went under) and looks confused when Allison hisses. "Get Peter _out_ of here." Werewolves must be able to smell (or sense or maybe he saw it in her eyes) emotions, she concludes, because Scott only shortly glances at her but that's all it takes to wipe his confusion away. He nods sharply and jogs off to deal with the two older wolves.

~

Later, when Peter and Derek are gone, Allison suggests that she takes Lydia home early before the pool closes and before the boys decide to leave. Lydia mutely agrees and waits as Allison quickly showers in the bathrooms (because her dad was getting the bathroom repainted today and she wouldn't be able to get in there for another day or so), feet nervously tapping on the tiled floor. Her friend exits the shower, a towel wrapped around her torso, and Lydia has the most impulsive urge to just unknot that towel and make Allison get dirty all over again. She brushes that thought away, mentally reprimanding herself for thinking such after almost _dying_. Allison gets dressed behind a curtain and apparently figures out that it's easier to talk about uncomfortable things with a visible barrier, "Are you okay?" Instead of answering, Lydia remains quiet until Allison reappears, fully dressed with her towel around her shoulders to keep her dripping wet hair at bay.

When they get to the privacy of the parking lot, Lydia says as she trails behind the brunette, "Allison... I love you. Thanks for, um, saving my life." She halts abruptly as Allison whirls around, brow furrowed, "You panicked and started involuntarily drowning - I don't need to be thanked." It's only when they're in the car and Allison is pulling out of the parking lot that she finished the sentence, "I love you, too, Lydia." Up until that point, Lydia had been staring out the window, and she's glad that she was because her mouth falls slightly open and sadness draws itself all over her face as her heart sinks. If only Allison knew how much those words meant to her.


	3. Be the Light in My Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place the weekend before 3x09.
> 
>  **Trigger Warning:** self-harm.
> 
> As always, ~ indicates a scene change, - is the beginning/end of a dream sequence, and > is the start/end of Allison's POV.

The weekend after Boyd dies and Lydia has her freakout at the pool, Allison asks for Lydia's help in painting her room. Normally, Lydia would say no because her hands only get dirty when she wants them to be, but it's _Allison_ and Allison's her best friend and she's lonely ("she" is Allison, of course, because Lydia Martin is too good for loneliness) from the breakup with Scott and the death of her mother. It's a change of scenery - something utterly normal after what's been happening these past few weeks.

She arrives in jeans (contrary to popular belief, she _does_ have jeans in her closet, but they're only _the_ most fashionable kind of jeans - none of that straight-leg, boring whitewashed, and edgy ripped-knees crap) and one of her old blouses, but Allison stops her the moment she crosses the threshold and hands her a worn t-shirt. Lydia changes into Allison's shirt, though, gladly because she doesn't want to get her clothes dirty; as she pulls the shirt over her head, she notices that it smells just like Allison's body mist. For once, she's pleased that her friend doesn't want much variety in fragrances and takes a long moment to press the fabric against her nose. "Lydia? Did you get stuck?" Allison's completely serious inquiry makes her giggle, and she quickly straightens out the shirt even though it wasn't as if the brunette could have seen her being an absolute creeper through the bathroom door. The shirt is all stretched out and an old, dried paint splatter suggests that it was already used for something similar; it hangs loosely from her frame, ending a bit below her thighs. It's long for a shirt, but Lydia concludes that it's because she's nearly five inches shorter than Allison therefore this would have fit her perfectly. After all, Lydia has issues with borrowing clothes from people most times because up until a few months ago, she still shopped in the petites section.

She casually leans against the doorframe of Allison's bedroom and watches her friend sift through plastic bags of purchased materials, just barely catching a roll of blue masking tape as it comes flying toward her face, an audible squeak leaving her throat. Allison pokes her head up and glances at Lydia apologetically, "Sorry, I should have given you a heads-up." The strawberry blonde rolls her eyes, "Oh, yes, that would have helped _loads_." They get to painting (Lydia gives a half-frown at Allison's final choice of baby blue, but inside, she thinks any color that Allison likes is as beautiful as the girl itself). Hours pass with a few snack breaks and, at one point, Lydia actually manages to talk Allison into being fed when the brunette refused to stop working to eat. She swears that her hands become so shaky while feeding her friend grapes that she's close to dropping the bowl and fainting right there. But, that might just be from the paint fumes.

"Grape," Allison mumbles and chews afterward, "So, what were you going to do if I hadn't invited you over?" "Have sex," Lydia says her with her most straight face, causing the brunette to choke and cough, "Just kidding." When Allison has recovered, Lydia smirks to herself and continue talking, "So, Allison, do you want a boyfriend or a distraction?" She watches her friend shake her head, and for the briefest of seconds, Lydia lets herself believe that Allison's about to say that she wants a girlfriend, instead, "Neither. I just want to focus on school right now." "Mm, too bad because there's a lot of handsome fish out in that sea, Allison." she states as if it's the most true thing in the world - which it kind of is, but she stopped wanting those fish after Allison happened. Allison simply ignores the comment and responds with a "Mhm" and an unconvinced nod.

~

Lydia doesn't expect to stay the night but after they've finished painting all four walls of Allison's bedroom (which required some help from Mr. Argent to move the furniture around), she's too exhausted to walk all the way home, and when Mr. Argent offers to drive her home, Allison protests with a "It's fine, Dad. I can drive her to school tomorrow." So, there it is, she's staying over.

They marathon romantic comedies out of the big collection that Allison has (most are just ones that Lydia has but Allison's put into consideration that she comes over a lot, therefore, certain additions were needed), and after a few movies, sometimes past midnight, Lydia listens to the brunette's pleas and agrees to watch an action movie or two. They're both lying on Mr. Argent's bed (he moved out to the couch to let the girls have a bed to sleep in - how kind), and Lydia has discovered that Allison prefers to sprawl out when watching movies. But, she's not complaining, especially when that means that Allison's head is resting on her stomach and she gets to slowly thread her fingers through flowing, brown locks. All Lydia wants to do is fall asleep with Allison by her side, even through the sounds of Tron: Legacy playing from the TV. She wants to feel safe - and happy. "Alli?" She hears a low noise of acknowledgement from her friend's throat, a soft rumble that carries to Lydia's stomach, making it flip. Mentally, she worries if Allison can feel the butterflies fluttering around. "Today was nice." "Mm, yeah, it was." Lydia can tell that Allison is clearly more focused on the fight scene going on, but she doesn't care. This is all she needs - this closeness bordering on intimacy. She wishes that their friendship was more, but why ruin something good with something bad?

After watching Tron then the Avengers (Lydia pokes fun at Allison and teasingly calls her "a prettier Clint Barton" to which Allison blushes furiously at and bashfully hides her face behind a curtain of hair), The Amazing Spider-Man is where they both drift off. Allison is gone by the time Uncle Ben dies, and Lydia spends all the scenes until the sewer fight with her hand tangled in Allison's hair before passing out as well.

-

She feels a weight on her chest like her last nightmare, but when Lydia opens her eyes, it's not Peter on top of her but Allison. The brunette swoops down and presses gentle yet teasing kisses along her jaw. "Allison," comes the soft moan, and Lydia swears she hears a chuckle. The kisses near her lips, ghosting over her cheek, but never touch them. She's had dreams about her friend before, but she's never been kissed on the lips by Allison's imaginary counterpart. Lydia pins it on the fact that she doesn't know what Allison's lips feel - or taste - like; it's a source of heavy frustration. Hazel eyes gaze lovingly at her; Lydia's heart leaps into her throat. "I love you." Allison says casually as if it's something they say to each other everyday - which it would be if this were a perfect world.

But all too sudden, Allison is gone and a heavier weight presses down on her: Peter. She struggles and gasps of fear and panic do nothing to help her situation. His fingernails turn into claws, long, sharp, and extremely deadly; a grin is plastered on his face, all teeth and no actual emotion save for sick excitement. This time, Peer doesn't actually say any words to her, but she hears his voice, trying to get her to stop struggling and trying to make her accept her inevitable death. "Shhh," he repeats constantly every time she squirms and tries to lash out at him. With one hand holding her down by the neck, he raises his other arm, and instinctively, Lydia raises her hands to protect herself. Pain ignites along the undersides of her forearms, and she finally lets out a _scream_.

-

It's her own cry of terror that yanks her back into reality, and her whole body jolts in momentary shock, nearly giving Allison an elbow to the face. "Whoa, fuck- _Lydia_!" Her friend - thank God for those hunter reflexes - scrambles back and avoids getting a black eye. She calms down once she realizes that Peter wasn't real - that she was just dreaming. Lydia sits up, groggy and dazed, rubbing at her eyes to rid them of the impression of cobalt irises gazing menacingly back at her. The sun shines through thrown-back curtains, and Lydia groans, feeling too physically exhausted to stand. Allison glances at her from the doorway, "My dad went out to go run some errands. I can make breakfast if you want to stick around for a while." She's given a choice, and sticking around probably means that Allison will ask her what happened (although, Allison is a good friend so if Lydia wants boundaries, she's sure that she can avoid talking about it). But, she feels safe here, and she felt safe in the brunette's arms last night. Why in the world would she want to leave that? Answer: she doesn't. "Yeah," she mumbles, nodding slowly, "I'll stay."

After Allison walks off to the kitchen, Lydia makes her way to the master bathroom to brush her teeth (she's over here so much that Allison set aside a toothbrush just for her use), and that's when she notices the scratches on her arms. In the bright, revealing light of the bathroom, her skin is white and the scratches are a contrast of bright red, already swelling and bumpy from all that they've endured. It's just a few of them - several inch-long lines on the underside of each forearm (where Peter clawed at her in her nightmare, she realizes) - but as she runs her fingers over one, they hurt like _hell_. At least, she had cut her nails earlier this week otherwise, there could have been blood dripping from her arms instead of simple scratches. Hastily, Lydia scurries to Allison's room and avoids passing by the kitchen in order not to arouse suspicion. As quietly as she can, her feet pad on the plastic tarps laid out to protect the wood floor from dripping paint. Quiet and tarps, however, are not a good combination, and the plastic crinkles loudly under her heels. Throwing caution to the wind, she rushes across the room to Allison's closet and finds a long sleeved shirt to throw on after she discards of her current paint-stained short sleeve in the laundry basket. Pulling the sleeves well over her wrists, Lydia adjusts the v-neck and makes her way out to the kitchen where the smell of pancakes fill the room.

"I made pancakes," Allison declares as she walks into the room, but Lydia can see the corner of an Eggo box sticking out from under the trash can lid. She lets Allison fool her anyway because it's cute. Allison's cute, generally. When she catches Allison's gaze, though, there's nothing but a quirked eyebrow and concern on her face, "Lydia, why are you wearing my shirt?" _Because it's pretty, smells like you, and looks good on me. Duh._ "Um," she ducks her head and sits down at the counter, taking the plate of pancakes that Allison slides over to her. Arms flat on the table, she holds back a wince as the counter presses the fabric of the shirt against her wounds. "Lydia?" She panics as Allison reaches across the countertop and gently places her hands over Lydia's. So close- rudely, she yanks her arms back and places them in her lap, mumbling softly, "No." This is ridiculous - her vulnerability. She's not this weak, was never this weak. Allison strides to the other side and joins her, placing a hesitant hand on her shoulder, "I'm here for you." That causes her to snap her head up, a blur of strawberry blonde hair, and growl, " _Are you_? Because I remember when I needed you and you wouldn't tell me what the _fuck_ was going on." It comes out of her like a flood, violent and unexpected; she hates to bring that up again, especially when she and Allison already had their brief break from being friends after the whole thing with Jackson turning from Kanima to werewolf last spring. They had worked out their issues back then with Allison apologizing until Lydia's heart melted into a puddle of goo at the pouts and those lovely, pleading hazel eyes.

Instead of recoiling, her friend stays, and something twitches with excitement in Lydia's heart. "There's nothing to keep from you anymore," Allison whispers, her voice cracking the smallest bit, "But your safety still matters to me." _I matter to you?_ is all she can think before shaking herself out of her daze. "I-" Falling silent, Lydia pulls up the sleeves and reveals the light gashes on her forearms' undersides, shivering as Allison ghosts her fingertips over them gently. "Oh my God, Lydia-" Sighing softly, she watches as the brunette goes over to a cabinet and pulls out a roll of bandages, "I... I think I did it in my sleep. But I was dreaming about Peter attacking me and, um, where his claws got me, I repeated it on myself- Uh, Allison, what are those for? I'm not _bleeding_." Allison pulls up another stool and begins wrapping the bandages around each of Lydia's forearms, firmly but not suffocatingly tight. "Shhh," she says lowly, "It's just so you don't do it again." Resigning to the help she's receiving, Lydia nods and observes Allison's slender fingers expertly work, keeping her arms as steady as she can (but they shake from time to time because she's still frazzled from her nightmare). When Allison's done, Lydia pulls down her sleeves as quick as she can, wanting to hide the bandages. A corner of white pokes out, and she pushes it back in, frustrated at herself. She's never hurt herself in her sleep before; this is completely new, and although she doesn't know how to deal with it right at this moment, she'll figure it out. That's basically what she was doing long before she was in-the-know with the werewolves, putting up with the shit Peter was throwing at her. Yes, she became traumatized, but she held her head up high and carried on.

Allison takes both of her hands and tightly clasps her own around, sweetly bringing Lydia out of her thoughts. Her heart beats wildly, and she bites back a stupid grin of delight. "We'll get through this together. I promise." When Allison pulls her into a hug, she presses her forearms a bit too hard against Allison's back, but not even the pain can yank her down - she's too high up. "You've got me, okay, Lydia? You know that, right?" She likes the sound of that a whole lot. "Yes, I do." Life fulfilled.


	4. When I Kiss You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place directly after 3x10 (the night of/hours after the end of 3x10).
> 
> This is a lot shorter than the previous three chapters, so my sincerest apologies, you guys. ):
> 
> Same routine: ~ is a scene change, - is a dream sequence, and > is Allison's POV (yay, used for the first time!)

Her digital clock reads 3:42 AM, bright blue in the blank darkness. Allison turns over on her back, boring holes into the ceiling, the gears in her head turning. Lydia was a Banshee, apparently, but Allison had never heard of Banshees before. A few hours ago, she had scoured the Internet but all that came out of her effort were mythologies, and there was no way to know what was real and what was not. Maybe she'll ask her dad in a few hours as she's getting ready for school. Absolutely bored but not even close to sleepy, she lays there, staring at the ceiling. When it's clear that sleep won't be coming soon, Allison gets up and spends a few seconds looking at her blue walls - the same blue walls that Lydia painted with her last weekend. It's been days since her sleepover, and so far, as she'd observed, Lydia was doing a perfect job of covering up her scratches with long sleeves. There had been no more updates - no more nightmares or self-mutilation that Lydia had told her about - so maybe things would be getting better from now on. There's always hope, she thinks, no matter how bad it seems. And, there will always be hope for her friend as long as someone's there for her because Lydia's been through too much on her own.

Her bare feet pad on the floor, toes curling at the cold kitchen tiles. The light of the refrigerator illuminates the kitchen with a dull glow, and Allison grabs a water bottle after some contemplation. She's only just taking a sip when a knock on the door startles her and she chokes, the water almost going down the wrong pipe. "What the hell?!" she hisses to herself, grumbling. It's nearly four in the morning; who in the world could be knocking on her door? Allison easily peeks through the peephole, not having trouble because of her height; the sight that awaits her causes her to drop the now-capped water bottle, letting it slip through her fingers. She yanks the door open in the next second, gaping at the strawberry blonde, "Lydia, what- Aren't you supposed to be at the hospital? I- What're you doing here?" The look in Lydia's dark green eyes are far from present, and it hits Allison - like, punches her in the _gut_ \- that this is Lydia's fugue state. An observation shows that Lydia's feet and ankles are covered with dirt and dry bits of leaves and her hands have little cuts - from the woods, Allison deduces. She steps aside, still in partial shock, and waits for her friend to say something, _anything_. Moments pass, then Lydia mumbles in the silence of the kitchen, "I was looking for you, Allison." This makes her quirk an eyebrow as she shuts the door, "Well, you found me. What now?" The other girl falls silent, and Allison sighs, taking Lydia by the arm. "C'mon, let's go get you cleaned up."

Lydia tracks dirty footprints from the doorway to the kitchen and all the way to Allison's bedroom; Allison makes a mental note to clean the floor before her dad wakes up, but it's not too hard to forget to clean dirt off the polished hardwood. She ushers Lydia into her bathroom, guiding her to sit on the edge of the bathtub, "Wait here, okay? Don't wander off." She doesn't know if Lydia can hear her or much less, obey simple commands like that, but at least her friend can't really walk off without the sound of the door opening and closing. A quick peek into her dad's room shows that he's sound asleep - or, so she hopes; he might as well be pretending to close his eyes. Tiptoeing back to her bathroom and closing the door to muffle any sound, Allison fills the tub with hot water half a foot up, taking each of Lydia's feet and dunking it in. Her friend is uncharacteristically quiet, but then again, sleepwalking is also not something Lydia normally does.

Allison scrubs with her bare hands, washing off the dirt in every crevice and space of Lydia's feet and humming softly to herself as she worked. The dirt gathers at the bottom of the tub as she moves up to Lydia's ankles. She's only starting on the right one when Lydia clears her throat. "Allison" comes the quiet call, and Allison glances up curiously, her lips parted to ask what was wrong. She's caught completely unaware, though, as Lydia's right hand wraps comfortably around the back of her neck, pulling her closer, and her left hand rests lightly on Allison's cheek. "Lydia, wha-" Her question never gets the chance to be completed as lips come crashing down on her own. Lydia pulls her closer, but in her shock, Allison simply can't respond, her hands numbly holding onto the edge of the bathtub. She can't move, can't kiss back but can't pull away either - her mind is just blank.

When Lydia finally pulls back and lets Allison have some space to breathe, she has nothing to say - neither of them do. Lydia's hand slips from Allison's neck, moving to her cheek, and the brunette can feel the tiny little cuts from the trees her friend probably stumbled against. They stay in absolute silence as Allison cleans the little cuts, making sure that there's no skin hanging loose that could catch and rip off raw skin. The dazed look is still in Lydia's eyes as if she's not entirely there, and that leaves Allison wondering - what was that kiss?

Allison makes sure that Lydia is all tucked in and out cold before she starts pacing around in the kitchen. The fridge opens and closes with several slams; she paces around, sits down, moves a stool, then sits down again, holds her head in her hands and breathes shakily. What was that what was that, _God,_ what was that? Was- did Lydia like her? Was that kiss supposed to mean something? Who- who was she supposed to talk to about this now? Lydia was her best friend, and this was the type of thing that best friends talked about. "But Lydia's my _best friend_ ," she hisses at the darkness, frustrated, "What am I supposed to do?" Weary, Allison buries her head between her arms with thoughts of Lydia's kiss stuck in her mind.

>

That's how Lydia finds Allison in the morning after she wakes up an hour before, utterly confused as to why she's in the Argents' apartment and how she got into Allison's clothes. She stumbles into the kitchen and sees the brunette passed out on the counter, and without hesitation, she shakes Allison awake. The startled jump isn't anything at all like Lydia expects, and she certainly doesn't anticipate the look of absolute panic in those hazel eyes.

Later, after Lydia showers and they have the most rushed and awkwardly silent breakfast she's ever endured, Allison drives her to school (which costs Lydia a long, hard glare and a stern "Allison, I don't need to go back to the hospital, _I'm fine_.") and it becomes a round of 20 Questions:

"Allison, what- what happened last night? How did I?-" She saw the scratches on her hands, like little healed papercuts, this morning while she was in the showers.

"You," Allison is having trouble with her words - Lydia knows nerves when she sees them, "You knocked on my door last night at, like, three in the morning. You had dirt all over your feet and cuts all over your palms."

Dirt. "The woods." Bravo. Well, at least, she wasn't naked this time. "What happened after that?"

Allison shrugs uneasily, "I cleaned you up, took you out of your hospital gown, and put you to bed."

"Did I say anything? Was I looking for something - a dead body?"

The best Allison can do is manage a light, strained chuckle, "No you didn't say anything."

"Did I do anything, then? Scream, maybe? Did I lash out at you or, um, myself?"

There's the longest of pauses as Allison finally pulls up in the school's parking lot, and then she sighs and shakes her head, staring Lydia straight in the eye. "No, you didn't do anything, either. You had a dazed look in your eyes, as if you weren't really there."


End file.
